“The pope’s wine is too strong: I
will reduce it a little with this pure water."(*)

(*) The poison, Acqua Tofana,
is pure and clear as water, without taste or
smell. It is prepared from opium and Spanish
flies, combined with some other ingredients, which,
however, are only known to the makers of it.
That the Acqua Tofana is made from the
foam sometimes found upon the lips of the dying,
is an idle tale. Allessandro Borgia was the first
to bring it into use.

SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDI

On the following day there was a solemn high office
in St. Peter’s. All Rome flocked there,
to see this great and touching spectacle. A dense
crowd thronged the streets, and all shouted and cried
when the pope, surrounded by his Swiss guard, appeared
in their midst in his gilded armchair, and received
the greetings of the people with a bland smile.

Toward St. Peter’s waved the human throng, and
to St. Peter’s the pope was borne. The
features of Ganganelli had an expression of sadness,
and as he now glanced down upon the thousands of his
subjects who, shouting, followed him, he asked in
his heart, “Who among you will be my murderers?
And how long will you yet allow me to live? Ah,
were I yet the poor Franciscan monk I was, then no
one would take the pains to assassinate me. Why,
then, does the world, precisely now, seem so fair
to me, now, when I know that I must leave it so soon?”
And the pope shed a secret tear while, surrounded
by royal splendor, he imparted his blessing to the
thousands who reverently knelt at his feet.

The bells rang, the organ resounded, the wide halls
of St. Peter’s were penetrated by the marvellous
singing of the Sistine chapel. Thousands and
thousands of wax tapers lighted the noble space of
the church, thousands and thousands of people pressed
into the sacred halls. Under his canopy, opposite
the high altar, sat the vicegerent of God upon his
golden throne, surrounded by the consecrated cardinals
and bishops, protected by the Swiss guard! Who
could have ventured to attack the holy father—­who
would have been so foolhardy as to attempt to penetrate
that thick wall of Swiss guards and princes of the
Church—­who could have been successful in
such an attempt? No human being! But where
the people could not penetrate, where there was no
room for the swinging of a dagger, there the malignant
poison lurked unseen!

Ganganelli sat upon his golden throne, intoxicated
by the clang of the organ and charmed by the singing
of the high choir, and the pope, looking down upon
the human crowd, again asked himself: “Who
among you are my murderers?”

The singing ceased, the organ was silent, and only
the solemn tones of all the bells of St. Peter’s
resounded through the church. A death-like stillness
else; the people lay upon their knees and crossed themselves;
before the altar kneeling priests murmured prayers.